Cars, Coke, & Commencement
by fragrantpharaoh
Summary: Keroro and his friends are just five kids trying to get an education. Well, that, and massive amounts of drugs, alcohol, and sex. (College AU)
1. Chapter 1

**Sorry I have been absent for so long! I have been shamefully absorbed in the wonderful game that is Fallout 4 and it has left me with little time to write. However, the Institute is defeated and I have 9 suits of power armor so now it's time for me to get back to writing!**  
 **(I did not forget about Red and The Seamless Coalesce Project lol)**

 **This is another collab fic with my sister, BenignTuna on**  
 **It is a college kids AU; no invasion; no Hinatas or Nishizawas or Azumayas or Saburos; no Keron Army; just five kids trying to get an education and traveling through a world of drugs, alcohol, and sex.**

 **This fanfiction is going to be mature with heavy drug use, very strong language and some sex. The sex will not be graphic. I am not writing a porno.**

 **It is, as per usual, conducted with the use of gijinkas. My co-author drew some headshots of the quirky quintet for you to look at~  
You'll have to head over to her deviantart account to see them since I can't link stuff here (CeruleanGuineaPigs on dA)**

 **And I think that's it for now! Enjoy, everyone, and be sure to leave a review~**

* * *

"'I really have discovered something at last. Through watching so much at night, when it changes so, I have finally found out. The front pattern _does_ move - and no wonder! The woman behind shakes it! Sometimes I think there are a great many women behind, and sometimes only one, and she crawls around fast, and her crawling shakes it all over.'"

At a desk near the back of the room sat a sandy-haired, twenty-two-year-old wearing a green and white letterman jacket who was shifting restlessly in his seat, longing for the boring lecture to be over with. His name was Keroro.

"'Then in the very bright spots she keeps still, and in the very shady spots she just takes hold of the bars and shakes them hard. And she is all the time trying to climb through. But nobody could climb through that pattern - it strangles so; I think that is why it has so many heads. They get through, and then the pattern strangles them off and turns them upside down, and makes their eyes white! If those heads were covered or taken off it would not be half so bad.'"

At last, the professor looked up from the worn anthology in his hands and faced the class again. Feeling grateful, Keroro sat up a little straighter, rubbing his right eye.

The professor, a kindly, stout old fellow with glasses who was called Randy Carmel, was overly fond of reading very lengthy passages without pausing. Now, thought Keroro, he would attempt to initiate discussion among the students by posing some question or another about the text.

"So, the narrator describes seeing a woman creeping around behind the pattern in the wallpaper," he began, and Keroro squinted at him impatiently. "What point do you think Gilman was trying to make with this shadowy figure?"

Keroro, having no intent to answer, glanced around the room instead. It was only the second week of the semester, but already he could see the weariness on the faces of his classmates. Many of them probably worked, like he did, and he had overheard some of the older women in the class discussing their children with each other; it was no surprise that they looked tired.

For several long seconds no one offered any answer, but finally a hand rose lazily into the air.

"Kululu?" Carmel prompted.

About half of the class directed its gaze to the back corner where Kululu was seated.

He sat sideways in his chair with his right hand noncommittally hanging in the air. He was sucking on two of his left fingertips. He crossed his legs at the knees and popped his fingers out of his mouth before saying, "She - the narrator - feels repressed. She _is_ the woman in the wallpaper. Trapped in the house by John, who she mistakenly believes is her husband. Trapped in the wallpaper that she hates by its pattern, like prison bars. Her creativity is being suppressed by John, as well, when he warns her not to write or to use her imagination much. It's obvious that this story is a metaphor for the oppression of women in society."

Carmel looked politely impressed, but Kululu's quick answer could hardly have surprised him, Keroro mused. Ever since the first day of class it had been apparent that Kululu was smart; he always seemed ready with a succinct but thoughtful response to any piece of information he was given.

"That's right," said Carmel, nodding at Kululu appreciatively, "and we'll expand on that idea next class. Any questions?"

There were none, of course, and he bid the students a good day over the sound of the usual end-of-class commotion.

Keroro shoved his notebook into his bag and then slung it over his shoulder as he stood up from his desk. As he was leaving the classroom, he heard a notification sound coming from his pocket. He pulled his phone out and leaned against the wall beside the door that the rest of the class was filing out of.

The sound had been alerting him of an email that informed him that his Thursday biology class had been cancelled due to the teacher's coming down with an illness.

Keroro deleted the email and made to text his mother about the cancellation, but he suddenly realized that someone had come up to him. It was Kululu. He was standing very near to Keroro with his pale eyebrows raised expectantly.

Keroro stared uncertainly at his sharp, diamond-shaped face that was half covered by a pair of large round glasses with swirls on the lenses before coming to the conclusion that Kululu must have asked something that he hadn't heard.

"Sorry, what?" Keroro asked.

Kululu held up a box labeled ' _ **Morley Menthol Cigarettes**_ ' and shook it in response.

"Oh, no thank you," Keroro said, shaking his head and smiling politely. "I don't smoke."

"I wasn't offering you one," Kululu replied, shoving the cigarettes into his back pocket. "I was asking for a light. But I guess since you don't smoke you won't have a lighter."

"Ah…" Keroro stowed his phone in his bag and walked off in search of a place to sit until his next class, which began in about an hour.

He sat at a stone table underneath the shade of a large pine tree. He scrolled through Instagram on his phone for a few minutes, but then Keroro was forced to retrieve his jacket from his bag and zip it on over his letterman jacket; it was windy and bitterly cold outside. He looked around happily at the orange leaves on the trees and at the cloudy sky. Keroro loved autumn.

He heard approaching footsteps and looked around. It was Kululu again. He must have found someone that had a lighter because there was a lit cigarette in his mouth.

"Anyone sitting here?" he asked quietly.

"No," Keroro replied, fidgeting with the sleeve of his jacket.

Kululu sat down at the table opposite him and took a long drag off his cigarette. He removed it from his mouth and held it between his thumb and forefinger before slowly exhaling a puff of white smoke.

Keroro idly watched the cloud rise and dissipate before commenting, "You know, you seem really smart, Kululu."

"Yes," Kululu agreed.

Keroro eyed him for a moment, his lips pursed in a thoughtful way, while Kululu stared back unperturbed. Then, coming to a decision, Keroro said determinedly, "We should study together sometime!"

Kululu dragged on the cigarette again and, as he exhaled, gave an unsettling chuckle. Keroro shivered involuntarily.

"Sure," Kululu answered finally, his mouth curling at the corners. "Having someone to study with should be more _interesting_."

Keroro forced a smile. He had been planning on using Kululu's brains to his own academic advantage, but now he wondered whether it was a mistake to associate with him. He hadn't previously noticed how creepy the guy was.

Kululu ran his fingers through his curly blond hair, yawning, then took his phone from his pants pocket. He entered his password on the lockscreen before holding it out to Keroro.

"Why… are you giving me your phone…?" Keroro asked, feeling a little nervous now.

"Phone number."

"Oh! So we can study together," Keroro said, relaxing again and navigating to Kululu's contacts. "Right." He saved his phone number and handed it back to his new acquaintance. Kululu's phone case was white with a bright yellow swirl.

"Neat case," said Keroro.

"Oh, thank you. It's my own _personal_ design," Kululu replied in his strange drawling voice.

Keroro was pretending not to be unsettled by Kululu's disposition when someone came towards them from the direction of the theater.

"Dororo!" Keroro greeted with relief as the dark-haired young man approached them.

Pale blue eyes were Dororo's only visible feature, as the rest of his face was covered by a medical mask. He looked stressed.

"Hi," he said distractedly, giving Kululu a brief glance before continuing. "Listen, I think that my binder _must_ be at your house. Are you sure that you haven't seen it?"

"Um, it's the really nice red one, right?" asked Keroro.

"Yes! All my notes for English are in there and we're already coming up on a test. I really need it, Keroro."

"I'll look again, just in case it's there," offered Keroro in a guilty-sounding way. Kululu smirked at him.

"Oh! Uh, Dororo, this is Kululu," Keroro said and gestured to his companion, eager to change the subject. "He's my new study partner."

Dororo smiled pleasantly and extended his hand to Kululu. "It's nice to meet you," he said.

Instead of shaking his hand, Kululu lightly fist-bumped Dororo's fingertips.

Looking perplexed, Dororo retrieved his hand. "Um, I should go," he said. "Class starts in a few minutes. I'll see you later." With a wave, he headed back the way he had come. Kululu stared after him.

"Why's he wearing a mask?" he asked Keroro.

"What? Oh, he always has. Fragile health, I think? We've asked him about it before, but he always gives kind of vague answers. Come to think of it…," he said, seemingly to himself, "I've never actually seen him without it…" A distant look of curiosity settled on his face at this thought.

"Who's 'we'?" asked Kululu.

Keroro snapped back to attention and turned to Kululu, wondering a little at his nosiness. "Another friend of mine and me. The three of us grew up together. Actually, we all started college late together too," he answered fondly.

"Having friends sounds nice," Kululu said. He blew a white smoke ring.

"Uh, yeah…," Keroro replied, feeling very uncomfortable. He glanced down at his watch and said, "I think I'm gonna go get a sandwich before my next class. It was nice meeting you, Kululu."

"Mm-hm."

Keroro walked off towards the parking lot, trying hard not to look like he was attempting escape from Kululu's company; which he wasn't. Odd though Kululu may be, Keroro liked him anyway.

Fumbling with his keys a little, Keroro unlocked the driver's door of his '79 Chevy pickup, a hand-me-down from his father, and pulled out of the crowded parking lot. On his way out, he glanced at the sign that read ' _ **Idaho State University - Welcome, Fall 2017 Students!**_ '

Keroro snorted a little. He had felt everything _but_ welcome at this school during the first few weeks of the semester - but maybe he just had shitty teachers.

* * *

 **(The passage being read from/the story being discussed in their class is _The Yellow Wallpaper_ by Charlotte Perkins Gilman)**


	2. Chapter 2

**New chapter~ and it's our longest one yet, too. 15 pages, almost 5,000 words~**

 **Also, wanted to mention, despite the platoon's being in a normal setting and being humans, we chose not to change their names bc we thought it would be weird. So everyone around them, minus their families, will have normal names while they retain their Keronian names and it won't be mentioned within the fic either.**

 **The extras in this fic (not the platoon or their families) are almost all based on real people that either me or my co-author know or used to know. Like, the teacher in the previous chapter was based on a real teacher we had, the guy Keroro is playing smash bros against in this chapter is based off a guy my co-author knew, etc.**

 **We just thought that would be kinda fun and it keeps it from feeling stale or anything like that~**

 **Anyway, enough rambling, enjoy this long-ass chapter!**

* * *

Kululu lay so still and quiet on his bed that, to anyone else, he would have looked asleep or perhaps dead; but when Huroro entered the room he knew better.

"You'd better listen to me," he said with venom as he glowered at his son.

Kululu turned his head a fraction of a degree to look back at Huroro, but he did not feel at all compelled to remove his headphones or to lower the volume of "Welcome to the Jungle".

"Mom just said that you came home plastered on Monday night. Don't come home drunk again. Or high, for that matter. She doesn't want to fucking see it," Huroro spat.

"You know," Kululu said in a rather louder voice than normal, "when you think about it, it's kind of amazing that she lets _you_ be in this house, huh?" Then he added, "Can you hear me?"

Huroro's mouth flattened into a brittle line and he looked as though he wanted to throttle Kululu, but he turned on his heel and left the room. Kululu lay there, supremely unconcerned, for several more minutes before rising to close the door and to dress to go out.

His clothes and other belongings were strewn about the cramped, dim room among a multitude of wrappers from various cheap foods. Books upon books were stacked haphazardly around his desk, upon which perched both a laptop and an old, partially disassembled monitor, towers of CDs and DVDs, and a black and white recorder. His closet, which had no doors, contained nothing except several lidded buckets full of even more DVDs and electronics.

Kululu pulled on his sneakers without bothering to re-tie them and headed out the door. He moved stealthily, hoping to go unnoticed by his mother. This, however, was wishful thinking.

He was nearly out the door when he remembered that he had forgotten to grab his bike lock from his room. He turned around to go get it and came face-to-face with his mother. She had somehow silently snuck up on him in her sock-clad feet, as was her wont.

She looked displeased, something else that was not uncommon for her. She raised an eyebrow and said, "Goin' somewhere?"

It was ridiculous, Kululu thought, how intimidating a short, thin woman named Banana could be (though everyone called her Bonnie). She had an ability to make him feel guilty even when he wasn't doing something he shouldn't, like now. In all truthfulness, today Kululu was merely heading to the school to study with Keroro.

It wasn't likely that he would be believed, though; his parents held little faith in his claims. That was Kululu's own fault, of course. He was no saint and lied about it often.

Kululu felt stuck; he made a little groaning sound.

"Seriously, dude, where are you going?" Huroro had arrived as well. He was leaning against the door jamb to the kitchen and wearing a look identical to his wife.

"You aren't gonna believe me if I tell you…," Kululu mumbled.

"What, you going to a Bible youth group or something?" Huroro laughed.

"I'm just going up to the school to study with a friend."

Much to Kululu's depression, yet resignation, both his parents looked at each other in surprise when he said that he was meeting a friend. Kululu had never really had friends; even Keroro was stretching the word a little, since he still really didn't know the guy.

"Just please don't drink alcohol," his mom said sharply. "Don't put anything in your body that shouldn't be there."

Huroro tossed Kululu his bike chain.

"And," Bonnie added, "I don't want you smoking." She produced his pack of cigarettes from the breast pocket of her shirt.

"Oh, hey, I was looking for those…"

"You left them in your coat pocket. I found them earlier when I was doing laundry. Cigarettes are poison. Don't poison yourself." With that, she walked out of the room. On her way, she handed the pack of cigarettes to Huroro, who also smoked.

Huroro muttered something about, "not caring for menthols," before following Bonnie from the room.

Kululu took a moment to zip up his jacket before he left the house through the kitchen door.

* * *

Even though it was a Saturday, there was a number of students milling around the Rendezvous atrium when Kululu arrived. The spacious, high-ceilinged interior looked warm and friendly in the afternoon light pouring in through the windows.

After a minute or two Kululu spotted Keroro sitting in an armchair on one of the indoor balconies and made his way up to him.

Keroro was chatting with another student in the chair next to him. He was a small black boy with huge, shining eyes and a round face, and he was so young in appearance that Kululu wondered for a moment whether he actually could be a college student. He wore a yellow and green cap and a baseball shirt, and he was eating colorful, individually-wrapped candies as Keroro spoke.

"There you are!" called Keroro when he noticed Kululu, who grinned in a careless way and took a seat. "This is my friend Tamama. Thought I'd bring him along too," Keroro said, gesturing to the boy.

Tamama's eyes sparkled. "Keroro said you're really smart!" he piped.

Lord, what a squeaky voice!

"I'm actually a genius," replied Kululu frankly, but he followed it with enigmatic laughter. This seemed to dampen Tamama's enthusiasm.

The three of them spent over an hour and a half talking and not accomplishing much real studying; eventually Kululu said, "We should probably get to work." He began pulling his textbooks from his large backpack. One, two, three… by the time he'd emptied his bag he had ten books and twice as many notebooks on his lap and on the floor between his feet.

"Holy shit!" exclaimed Keroro. "How many classes do you take?!"

"Seven."

"God…," Keroro replied in disgust, glancing at Tamama. "I thought four classes was bad…"

"It doesn't seem like that bag should be able to even hold all that," Tamama commented, crossing his legs and getting out his own books.

"This isn't that many. I've taken more in a single semester before," Kululu replied. He located his American Literature book, the class he shared with Keroro, and pulled a bundle of papers from in-between the pages. "You want my notes on this class, right?" he asked Keroro.

Keroro glanced around furtively. "What makes you ask that?"

"That's the whole reason you wanted to study with me, right?"

"Well… yeah, I guess…," Keroro admitted guiltily.

"Thought so."

Keroro made to grab the papers, but Kululu pulled them back.

"The hell?"

"If you give me fifty bucks I'll let you read my notes. You can even make copies of them to take home, if you want, for an extra ten."

Looking betrayed, Keroro spat, "I'm not gonna give you fifty dollars to read your stupid notes!"

Tamama, who had previously been watching the scene in amusement, now pulled his wallet from his jeans pocket and said, "Sixty dollars to make copies?"

"Yup."

"Cool." Tamama pulled a fifty-dollar bill and two fives from his wallet and handed it to Kululu, who handed the youth his notes in return.

"Pleasure doing business with you," Kululu replied, pocketing the money.

"Wh-! But-!" Keroro sputtered. "Oh, goddamn!"

Tamama sat back in his chair, chuckling, and began flipping through Kululu's notes.

"Why do you even want those, Tamama? You don't take American Literature!" Keroro said indignantly.

"One," Tamama held up his first finger, "I can make copies and sell it to other fuckers that _do_ take the class; and _two_ ," he put up his middle finger as well, "if I ever take an American Literature class, it's possible that this may come in handy."

"That's… fucking genius…," Keroro replied, sounding defeated.

"Don't you take your own notes in class, Keroro?" Kululu asked.

"Well, yeah, sometimes… I guess it doesn't matter, though." Keroro looked thoughtfully at his textbooks that he'd lain out neatly on the coffee table in front of them for a moment, and then he said in a matter-of-fact way, "This is terrible."

"What is?" Tamama asked, now with a book titled, " _Viajes - Introduction to Spanish_ " open in his lap.

"That we're studying on the weekend! It's Saturday! This is a hallowed day, meant only for lazing about and for getting stoned. Not for studying for _seven goddamn classes_ ," he added with a pointed glance at Kululu's mountain of text.

"If you think that, then why the hell did you choose to study on a Saturday?" Tamama asked, laughing a little.

"I didn't. I would never do something so horrible," Keroro replied. "Kululu made us do it today."

"Oh."

A look of despair crossed over Keroro's face and he held his hands out to Kululu. "Why would you pick today, of all days?!" he asked in an anguished sort of way. "Why couldn't we have done this during the week, when homework is _supposed_ to be done?"

Kululu scratched the back of his head awkwardly. The real reason he chose today was because he liked to get out of the house as often as possible. He had classes all day during the week, but he was mostly stuck in the house on the weekend. It was a nightmare.

He said, "I was… busy… during the week. With other school stuff. This is the only chance I had to meet up."

"Well, this is just frankly disturbing, what we're doing here," Keroro said, collecting his books and putting them into his red backpack. "I recommend that we cease all schoolwork until at least midnight on Sunday."

"Ooh," Tamama said, looking excited. "I second that motion."

"Fine with me; I can do this later," Kululu responded lazily.

"Now, since we're not planning on wasting an entire Saturday anymore," said Keroro in a satisfied tone, "we can focus on more _important_ things!"

Tamama's face lit up at this. "We're going to a party tonight! This chick in my Health class is hosting it," he informed Kululu.

Kululu crossed his legs imperiously. "Then I'll go too," he stated with a smirk.

Keroro and Tamama exchanged an almost imperceptible, apprehensive glance.

"Wha-at? Am I not cool enough for you?" Kululu teased.

"No, no! Of course you are!" said Keroro quickly. "You can come! But, uh, it can get pretty intense, you know." Tamama smiled knowingly and nodded.

Kululu yawned, unimpressed.

* * *

Hours later, the three of them were packed into Keroro's car. It was just after sundown, and the still-orange horizon was the brightest part of the sky. A brief drizzle had left tiny droplets on the windshield that glittered in the yellow streetlights the car was passing under.

"Tamama, you've gotta stop farting! _Fuck!_ "

Tamama laughed in his high-pitched voice. "You have to accept me for who I am!"

Kululu was blocking out their chatter with his headphones, feeling content about being transported by someone else for a change, and for free. He usually had to ride a bike everywhere. He hung leisurely out one of the backseat windows with his arms folded on top of the sill as his hair flapped wildly around his head.

"Kululu, you should really wear your seatbelt!" said Keroro over the noise of the wind.

"Probably," Kululu agreed. Keroro shook his head in disapproval.

They arrived a few minutes later at a pleasant-looking single story. It was quiet enough outside, but there was about a dozen cars parked on both sides of the street, and they could see through the windows that the house was packed with people.

"Look, Giroro's already here," said Keroro, pointing at an old green Jeep on the opposite side of the street from them. Something about this must have amused Keroro and Tamama because they both laughed as they got out of the car.

Kululu stood up and tossed his headphones and his red iPod onto the seat before slamming the door shut. When he turned around Keroro and Tamama were already ringing the doorbell.

The door opened as Kululu strolled up, and they were let into the house by a drunk-looking girl wearing too much eyeliner. A roar of mixed voices and obnoxious music met them as soon as they walked in. There were people everywhere they looked, but there was enough room to move around in relative comfort.

The décor and characteristics of the house that weren't obscured by people were simple and homely. But the owner clearly liked roosters a little too much, because each room seemed to contain at least one oven mitt, framed painting, or wickerwork likeness of a rooster. Kululu was grinning at one of these peculiar trinkets when Keroro tapped him on the shoulder.

"I'm gonna do a shot and then play Smash Bros. with this guy I know!" he shouted. "Tamama's over there getting cake, I think. You oughta get a drink!" He gestured to the kitchen and then headed in that direction.

Kululu got himself a Heineken from a cooler in the kitchen and took a hit off someone's joint, but he didn't want to do more; he had decided to heed his father's warning about coming home drunk and high, lest he get the shit beat out of him.

A girl with running mascara suddenly came up to him in a transport of grief; without hesitation, she uninvitedly unloaded her misery on him, explaining with slurred speech about how much of an asshole Aaron had been earlier (whoever that was; probably a boyfriend). Once she had cried and complained so much that she could no longer form even semi-coherent sentences, she exclaimed that she was, " _Going home to get away from this deep-fried bullshit_ " and stumbled away, freeing Kululu.

He located Keroro before anyone else could start whining at him, which for some reason happened often. Kululu didn't pride himself on looking approachable, but whenever he went to parties it seemed like there was always at least one person who would vent to him without solicitation. Maybe it was because he was never already talking to someone else.

Keroro was in one of the back rooms, playing video games as he said he would be. He was apparently in the fight of his life on _Super Smash Bros. Brawl_ ; he was leaning forward so far that the bowl of chips in his lap was in serious danger of falling. A steady stream of swear words flooded from his mouth.

Keroro won the match and he sat back in relief. "Yeah, motherfuckers!" He raised his arms. "I'm the fuckin' champion."

The person Keroro had been playing against, a small Hispanic fellow who was sitting cross-legged on the floor, snorted. "Dude, are you gonna say that every time?"

"I'll stop saying that I'm the fuckin' champion when I stop being the fuckin' champion." Keroro noticed the precarious bowl in his lap and moved it to a table behind the couch he was sitting on. "Oh, hey!" he said, spotting Kululu.

"Yo," Kululu replied.

"You wanna watch us?"

"Sure. Beats listening to bitches complain about their slutty boyfriends or watching sloppy makeout sessions."

For some reason, Keroro found this hilarious and it was a few moments before he could put a stop to his laughter. Kululu guessed that he was either stoned or drunk. Or both.

Kululu sat next to him on the couch and Keroro grinned at him before turning his head the other way and giving the guy sitting on his other side a nudge in the ribs. "Don't fall asleep, Giroro! It's not even eleven o' clock yet!"

Giroro, who had indeed looked like he was nodding off, snapped upright and said, "I'm awake. Don't poke me."

"Oh, yeah, Kululu," Keroro said, partially distracted with his game again, "this is Giroro, the guy I mentioned on Wednesday. The one that grew up with Dororo and me."

Kululu leaned around Keroro to get a better look at Giroro. He had bright orange hair that was shaved almost into nonexistence, large, sharply angled eyes hooded with thick eyebrows, and about a million freckles the same color as his hair. Cute.

"Hey," Kululu said, raising his voice to be heard over the sound of Keroro's game.

Giroro nodded in acknowledgement but he did not smile.

" _Someone's_ got a stick up his ass," Kululu commented to Keroro as he sat back against the couch.

Keroro laughed. "He's just a grouchy guy. Huh, Giroro?" He leaned toward his friend obnoxiously.

Giroro gave him a little shove away and muttered, "Quit bein' a dick."

Keroro just laughed harder.

The three of them lounged on the couch for a long time before Tamama joined them, his arms full of plastic cups of rum and coke. Kululu and Giroro both refused when offered the drinks, so Keroro and Tamama split the cups between them.

It didn't take long for the two of them to become plastered to the point of singing and raucous laughter, which was highly entertaining for Kululu to watch. Although he wasn't drinking, himself, he was enjoying observing the behavior of the other partygoers. It would have been a little more fun if a fight had broken out or if some horny teenagers had decided to get frisky, but the energetic atmosphere was still a welcome change of pace, especially when Kululu thought of his obligation to attend church with his parents the following day.

When there was a lull in activity, Kululu took to studying Giroro. The redhead spoke with Keroro and Tamama occasionally (when they were lucid enough), but mostly he sat quietly, refusing any offers of drugs or alcohol, his young face set in a stern expression.

Really, thought Kululu, it seemed kind of strange that Giroro was here at all. He looked stiff and uncomfortable and not at all like he was enjoying himself. He ducked his head shyly any time a girl was standing too close to the couch. At times, his face was so flushed that his freckles seemed to actually disappear.

Kululu checked his watch; it told the time to be 11:01 p.m.

Moments after, people began leaving the room in droves, heading for the front door.

"Hey, what's going on?" Keroro asked one of the groups that had hurriedly stowed their pot in their coat pockets and made to leave.

"Some guys that were hanging around outside said that there's cops down the street. They aren't there for us, but I don't wanna get caught with this weed."

Keroro looked around in mild alarm. "Maybe - uh - we should get going, too?" he suggested sheepishly.

"Yeah," Tamama agreed, "I'm not even supposed to be drinking, anyhow…"

Kululu stood up from the couch and dusted crumbs that had somehow made their way onto his lap off of his shirt and headed out.

He slapped his pockets, checking that he still had his phone and wallet, and emerged into the frigid September air that was filled with the sound of loud, drunken speech. A little way down the street there were bright red and blue flashing lights; it looked like someone had been pulled over.

Keroro had driven him here, but he was, of course, too intoxicated to drive, so Kululu would have to find some other way home. He asked a few people who looked sober enough if they could drive him, but he was turned down. So, he stuck out his thumb and started down the block the way they'd come.

Kululu had just left the neighborhood and begun down the main road when someone pulled up next to him.

It was Giroro. Keroro and Tamama were slumped against each other in the backseat of his military-green jeep, already passed out.

"You need a ride?" Giroro asked.

"Kinda."

"Get in. I'm stuck driving these two dumb fucks home, anyway."

Kululu pulled open the passenger door and hoisted himself into the vehicle. He had hardly clicked his seatbelt into place when Giroro pulled back out into traffic.

"Thanks," said Kululu as they hopped on the freeway.

"You're welcome," Giroro returned gruffly.

Feeling completely at ease, Kululu slid down in his seat and crossed his thin legs as he looked around the interior with interest. Uninhibitedly, he reached over and turned on the radio. The station was playing "Knocking at Your Back Door".

"Stop it," said Giroro menacingly, switching off the music.

Kululu clicked his tongue. "You're no fun, you know," he pointed out.

"I'm fun…," Giroro muttered defensively. "I'm just… tired."

"Do you work?"

"Active duty in the military."

"Ahh," Kululu replied. After a few moments, he asked, "How many classes do you take?"

"Four."

"Online classes?"

"One of them is. There's a night class as well. The other two are during the day."

"What classes are they?"

Giroro glanced at him uneasily. "Why do you want to know?"

"I'm curious."

Giroro was silent for so long that Kululu thought that he wasn't going to answer. But then, he said, "Math, geology, English - that's the online one - and world history, the night class."

"What math is it?"

"You ask too many questions. I don't know. Just be quiet."

But Kululu did not feel like being quiet. This was much too interesting of a person to let alone. "Keroro said that you guys grew up together?"

"Yes. Our dads are friends, so we've been together for our entire lives, and we met Dororo in grade school, so we've known him a long time, too."

"What do you do for fun?"

"What? Nothing, I don't… really have hobbies."

Giroro was clearly not much of a conversationalist, concluded Kululu.

He was just thinking of better questions to ask when Giroro said suddenly, "I don't know where Tamama lives."

Kululu glanced at him and then at the sleeping figures in the back seat. "Hmm. Well, neither do I," he replied thoughtfully. He reached behind him and smacked Tamama's knee several times while telling him loudly to wake up. Tamama stirred, but then just snuggled closer to Keroro and slept on.

"Shit. Maybe I can just drop him off at Keroro's house. His parents probably wouldn't mind…," Giroro mumbled.

Kululu turned almost backwards in his seat and, with difficulty, managed to get his hand into Tamama's jeans pocket. Not finding what he needed there, he tried to stretch even farther to reach the pocket on the other side.

"Hey! What are you trying to do?" yelled Giroro when Kululu bumped into him. "If you can wait a second, I'll pull over."

A little way ahead Giroro found a place to stop on the side of the road. Kululu unbuckled his seatbelt and was finally able to take Tamama's wallet from his pocket. He opened it up and began examining his ID card.

"Damn, he's only nineteen. Here's his address," said Kululu, holding out the card so that Giroro could see. Giroro nodded, and Kululu replaced Tamama's wallet and strapped himself back into his seat as they set off again.

"I can't believe Keroro lets this kid drink, knowing that he's underage," mumbled Giroro with distaste.

"Not his responsibility," Kululu pointed out, stretching luxuriously.

"Maybe not, but he's being a bad influence."

"Hmm."

They fell silent for a long while. Kululu couldn't seem to conjure any topic interesting enough to pursue, and he figured that Giroro would just find a way to terminate the conversation anyway. So he contented himself with staring out the window and thinking.

It wasn't long before he and Giroro found themselves in Tamama's neighborhood. The sleepy houses were well-kept, with trim lawns and lush trees. Many of the homes were large and expensive-looking, and Tamama's house was one of these.

Giroro pulled up to the corner two-story and parked. His jeep shared the driveway with a minivan, which bore on its back window a sticker family representing nearly a dozen people.

"They clearly don't know when to quit," said Kululu with a smirk when he noticed this.

Giroro climbed out of the vehicle and opened Tamama's door.

"Come on," he said gruffly and lifted the small boy with ease. Tamama mumbled something incoherent and looked back toward Keroro as he was carried up to the house. Kululu couldn't see them at the front door from where he was sitting, but Giroro returned after only a moment, so he figured that he must have successfully deposited the drunken youth.

"What'd his parents say?" Kululu asked as Giroro started up the engine.

"They're asleep. Tamama was aware enough to let himself in."

After determining that Keroro should be dropped off first, his house being farther than Kululu's from the dorms where Giroro was staying, they headed back out toward the freeway.

Kululu slipped deep into his thoughts again, his senses relaxing from sleepiness.

This group of friends - Giroro, Keroro, Tamama - were nice, Kululu decided. Kululu didn't really have friends; this was partly by choice. He didn't like most people. People were annoying. But he didn't mind these ones.

Keroro, for some reason, seemed to genuinely like Kululu. Kululu honestly couldn't see why. He hadn't exactly brought a whole lot to the table in terms of friendship, but, then again, neither had Keroro. Most people shied away from Kululu after having known him for a day or two, but although Keroro had had noticeable moments of doubt, he was still hanging out with Kululu nearly a week later.

Although Kululu hadn't seen much of Tamama yet, he seemed like a fun person to have around. Amusing and energetic, kind of dumb but not obnoxiously so, and not exactly restrained when it came to alcohol: he was a good type of person to have in a group of friends, Kululu imagined.

Then there was Giroro. He was quiet, but not at all demure. He was interesting, and just the kind of person Kululu could use to fend off boredom. From the roughly two minutes' total conversation they had shared, Kululu had gleaned that Giroro was reasonably intelligent. If, as he claimed, he really was just tired, it was possible that he may be even more entertaining during the day. Kululu thought it would be a shame to miss out on seeing that.

He wanted to be friends with these people, but how was that even done? His parents' glance at one another earlier had not been unprecedented; Kululu had never had a lasting friendship, and the friendships he'd had thus far had been short-lived and likely been born of pity.

Giroro was taking them into another neighborhood, so Kululu interrupted his musing to sit up and look around. This neighborhood was older-looking than Tamama's, but just as pleasant, and the petite home that Giroro drove straight for as if he had known it all his life (which he had) could aptly be described as "cute".

Keroro was coming around at this time, but he didn't look well, and when Giroro parked Keroro just gave a quick goodbye and then hurried wobbly up to the front door. Giroro waited for his friend to enter the house and to close the door behind him before pulling out of the driveway.

Now he and Kululu were alone. If this fact made Giroro uncomfortable at all, he was hiding it well. That's no fun.

Kululu shifted sideways in his seat so that he could look at his companion. He stared at him for so long that Giroro finally asked crossly, " _What?_ "

"I think I'm going to like being your friend," said Kululu. His lip curled at the disquietude that showed on Giroro's face through a slight break in his composure.

"You can't just decide that we're friends," Giroro retorted. Kululu's smile grew wider.

"Why not? It's inevitable. Keroro enjoys me, he and you are close, so we're likely to see each other again, and you and I have already spent this much time together. And," he added, facing forward in his seat again, "it gets boring for me not to have people to play with regularly. Maybe you should stop being interesting if you don't like it."

Giroro made a noise of dissent, but otherwise voiced no argument. Kululu crossed his arms smugly.

They didn't speak again until they reached the part of town where Kululu lived, at which point Giroro asked Kululu to repeat his street name.

Kululu was mildly disappointed when they finally parked in front of his house, but he made himself feel better by reminding Giroro that he would see him again.

"Whatever, just go home," Giroro told him. Kululu shrugged and climbed out. By the time he had slouched up to the door, Giroro's jeep was already down the street. He smiled anyway; the night had been a victory for him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello, my viewers, long time no see~**

 **You might have noticed that this is just a fragment. I have some bad news for you**  
 **My co-writer and I are officially abandoning this fic. I'm really sorry to everyone that's waiting to see what happens, but I have been unable to write it lately because I am honestly just not clicking with it. Even if I forced myself to write, without passion the writing will be shitty.**

 **We decided to upload the fragment that we'd already written for this last chapter before we gave up. Most of it was written by my co-writer.**

 **I really appreciate everyone's support and love for my fanfictions - it makes me feel so happy.**

 **It's not the end of my writing forever; I'm actually working on something else right now, but it's definitely the end for Cars, Coke, and Commencement.**

 **Cheers, everyone.**

* * *

Giroro awoke on Monday morning feeling annoyed. The light being diffused by the blinds over the one window in the room was still blue, and when Giroro groggily lifted his head from his pillow to look at the time, the clock read 6:31. It would still be half an hour before his alarm would go off, but he had already been disturbed beyond recovery.

Giroro's roommate, a rowdy, green-eyed freshman named Alexander, had been up and bustling energetically around the dorm room without even attempting to keep down his noise level. In fact, Giroro suspected that he was being loud on purpose. Humming, causing some unknown item to shatter, closing drawers so loudly that it sounded like he was slamming them… Ever since the semester had started it had been apparent to Giroro that he was living with a person prone to obnoxious behavior.

But this was the first time he had been up and at it so _early._

His expression stormy, Giroro rose and tugged a pair of jeans out of the open dresser next to his bed, slipping them on without a word. As he grabbed his red jacket and put it on, Alexander bounced up to him.

"I didn't think you'd get up this early!" said the scrawny boy cheerfully. "I just didn't feel tired and I thought it would be fun to be awake before the rest of the building. Hear how quiet it is out there?"

Giroro wondered sarcastically how his roommate could possibly have been listening to the silence when he had been making such a ruckus. "I didn't _want_ to get up yet. Do you have to be so loud?" he snarled.

Alexander just cackled in response and flopped onto his bed. He picked up a book lying next to him and promptly buried his nose in it, leaving only the top of his chestnut hair visible. The only time he was quiet seemed to be when he was reading. Fortunately, that was frequently. Unfortunately, it was too late today for it to help Giroro.

Giroro picked up his military-green backpack and headed for the door. He would visit Dororo, he decided, since he wasn't going to be able to go back to sleep anyway; it would come as a surprise if his friend hadn't already been up for a while.

Giroro rapped twice on the door numbered 33 and waited, looking up and down the hall. No one would be leaving his room to go to class yet, and it was probable that Dororo and his roommate were the only ones awake on their floor.

Giroro was just appreciating the peaceful silence when Dororo answered the door.

"Giroro! What are you doing up?" he asked and stepped aside to let Giroro in. He was already dressed and his black hair was neatly combed.

"Alexander woke me," growled Giroro. He gave a short wave to Harry, the shy blond boy with heavy-lidded eyes whom Dororo lived with, who was sitting placidly on his bed rifling through a purple backpack next to him. Spilling out of the backpack were seashells, buttons, and other small treasures. Harry smiled awkwardly at Giroro before returning to his activity.

Giroro settled himself on the other bed, thinking wistfully that it would be nice to exchange his roommate for Dororo's.

"I thought I'd come by since that nuisance obviously wasn't going to let me sleep," he explained as Dororo sat next to him and offered him a rice cracker (to which he refused).

"Of course. What is he already doing up, anyway?"

"Nothing of importance. So far, I haven't seen him taking care of any responsibilities that he might have. I don't think the kid even studies." Giroro flexed his fingers in a bored manner and crossed his arms. "How is class?"

An energetic gleam came into Dororo's eyes. "Oh, which one? I've really been enjoying plant science. My professor focuses heavily on the agriculture aspect of the discipline. I'm going to take what I'm learning and use it to improve my garden at home. Right now, I have basil, marigolds, lavender, and radishes growing. I've asked my brother to look after them while I'm living here, but he's never been very interested in gardening. I hope he hasn't killed any of them already…"

He spoke with unusual animation, but Giroro's obvious disinterest and dwindling attention were an effective stopper to his enthusiasm.

The two of them lapsed into awkward silence, perforated only by the light clinking of unknown objects against each other as Harry stored his miscellany back in his bag.

Giroro wondered uncomfortably why he had chosen to visit Dororo instead of going on a walk to pass the time. At least that would have been productive.

Dororo was one of Giroro's best friends, and Giroro had known him for over a decade, but it had been so much easier to spend time with him when he and Keroro and Giroro were kids. They had nothing in common anymore. At least Keroro _sometimes_ shared similar attitudes about things with Giroro. Dororo was definitely the odd one of the group.

Giroro looked at his watch; now it was 6:58. Deciding that he had spent enough time there, he said a quick goodbye to Dororo and Harry and left the dorm.

He spent the next half-hour walking around the sleepy university, only coming across one lone jogger on his morning run, before finally sitting down inside the campus coffee shop where he bought himself a small cup of the black beverage. _(Why is everything else so expensive here?)_

Serene and uninteresting. That was how his semester could be described so far, though Giroro was hardly complaining. High-strung by nature, he preferred having things go smoothly and welcomed moments of solitude wherein nobody could aggravate him.

The time passed alone in the coffee shop eased the stress lingering from his interactions earlier that morning, and Giroro spent his first class of the day in relative relaxation. Feeling in a good mood, he headed to the campus store (another overpriced locale) on his break to pick up a snack.

But as he was perusing the shelves stocked full of chips and Clif bars, an unfamiliar voice addressed him.

"Hey, Giroro."

It was Kululu. He was standing at the end of the aisle, a smirk on his thin lips. Giroro, who hadn't been anticipating another social encounter, frowned a little but gave a grunt and a nod in greeting.

Kululu ambled over to him. "Whatcha buyin'?" he asked.

"I don't know yet," Giroro responded, feeling his good mood slipping away.

"I came by on the off chance they had some instant curry mix. They don't," drawled Kululu, plucking a cup of ramen noodles off the shelf and examining it. "I think I'll go ahead and get this instead. _So_ ," he said, looking back at Giroro, still wearing that teasing smile, "obviously we have a break at the same time on Mondays and Wednesdays. Maybe I'll see you in here again sometime."

Giroro barely suppressed a grimace. There was something about Kululu that just made him uneasy. It was like he could hear Kululu laughing at him behind his back every time he turned around.

Kululu gave a lazy wave goodbye that Giroro didn't return and shuffled over to the register. Even though he didn't really feel like purchasing anything anymore, Giroro lingered behind the shelves for a few minutes longer to avoid further conversation with the enigmatic blond.

As he left the store, Giroro wondered crossly why there were so many difficult people in his life. He seemed to be a magnet for them. He had bad luck, he realized morosely. _Like a joke character in a television show._

The rest of his break, and later his geology class, made no effort to hurry. The day had long overstayed its welcome, Giroro thought; his visit with Dororo, and the morning rest at the coffee shop, seemed to have been occurrences of the previous day instead of today.

It was around 2:30 in the afternoon when Giroro finally headed down the hall to the room he shared with Alexander. It would be a few hours until he had to leave for work, and, as per his routine, he intended to pass the time doing homework.

But when he opened the door and stepped inside, for a moment the bewildering sensation of having entered the wrong room fell upon him. His roommate was absent, and instead, jarringly, it was Keroro who greeted him.

"Oh good, you're back! Listen, you really should keep your room neater. Place was a pigsty when I got here-"

"What are you _doing_ here? How did you get in?!" demanded Giroro, flabbergasted.

Keroro was sitting on Alexander's bed, his green jacket tossed carelessly over the end of it, and he was munching on what looked like the last bit of a box of saltines that Giroro had bought a while back. He stood and strolled over to his friend with an easy air as if it were his apartment, Giroro's arrival being that of an expected guest.

"I was bored, so I came over," said Keroro. "And I straightened up, you see. Your roommate's out, but I'm not sure where. He wasn't in when I got here. Also, I think we should stop by the store and pick up some fruit and stuff for the room, because this," he gestured to the empty box, "is no way to live, Giroro!" He shook his head in a pitying way.

Giroro gave him a dangerous look. "You can't just waltz into whoever's room you want!" he shouted. Each interaction of his day had been more intolerable than the last, and now he was reaching the boiling point.

Keroro shrugged, his face assuming an infuriating expression that clearly read, "It can't be helped."

But, although it happened frequently, Giroro was never angry with Keroro for long, and when he had cooled off from the initial moment of irritation, he relented. Soon, he found himself driving with Keroro to a further-away but more affordable store than the one on campus. Because, strangely, when Keroro suggested courses of action, Giroro was often inclined to go along with them. He wondered vaguely why this was, coming to the conclusion that Keroro could be charismatic at times.

Giroro parked his Jeep, and he and Keroro climbed out and went inside the little grocer, feeling momentarily chilly from the blast of frigid air that usually accompanied passing through the entrance doors.

Keroro chattered to Giroro about his classes and his favorite TV shows while taking his time to peruse the store's merchandise. Occasionally he would ask Giroro's opinion on a particular food item or stop to point out a celebrity on a magazine cover. _("Have you seen the things she's been wearing lately? Unbelievable!")_

Giroro had little interest in most of what Keroro was saying, but the outing did help to pass the time. Before long, it was after four o'clock.

Keroro looked at Giroro's watch. "I guess we should go. I'm supposed to meet Kululu for studying at five."

Kululu again. Why did that guy keep coming up? Giroro was starting to wonder if further contact with the weirdo was inevitable. If Kululu was becoming friends with Keroro, it was almost a certainty.

Keroro made the executive decision that a bunch of bananas was the perfect snack to bring back to the room; although exasperated with Keroro's bossiness in general, Giroro agreed to his choice. Keroro thrust the fruit into Giroro's arms and the two of them quickly made their purchase and headed out.

As he merged onto the freeway, it occurred to Giroro that it was strange that he should already feel a sense of familiarity with a person whom he barely passed as an acquaintance for. He had seen Kululu on only two occasions, but the amount of time that Giroro had spent with him seemed to have locked Giroro into an inescapable relationship with him, one which would surely involve endless sporadic encounters and a good deal of anxiety.

He dropped off Keroro at his house before driving back out to the college, the bananas that they had gone out for resting in a plastic bag on the passenger seat. While he drove, he couldn't help but feel unsettled by the idea that Keroro was rapidly drawing Kululu, a potentially disruptive foreign element, further and further into their group.

Keroro pulled up in front of Kululu's house and turned his truck's ignition off. He had not seen Kululu since the night of the party **(he hasn't, right?)** and felt a little awkward seeing him again, especially since they both knew that Keroro only really wanted to study with him for personal gain. Was it worth it?

"It's worth it," Keroro said aloud to himself, nodding and stowing his keyring in an inner pocket of his jacket. "Gotta get those grades, yessir…," he muttered as he got out and headed up to the front door.

His knock on the door was answered almost at once by a woman that Keroro guessed must be Kululu's mom. She was short and narrow-framed; she had a heart-shaped face and sharp, dark features; her dark hair was cut very short, in what Keroro thought to be a very 'mom' haircut.

"Can I help you?" she said.

"I'm friends with Kululu," Keroro replied, sticking his hands in his back pockets, "We're gonna study together."

Her eyes flicked back and forth between his in what could only be described as a suspicious manner. She said, "Just wait here a minute, 'kay?"

Keroro nodded and she closed the front door. It was opened again several moments later by Kululu.

"Yo," he greeted.

"Hey," Keroro responded, "how've you been?"

"Fine." Kululu stepped aside to allow Keroro to come in.


End file.
